


The Most Comfortable Place

by finnicks



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnicks/pseuds/finnicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Éponine is a little bit in love with Enjolras and Marius believes that he is a little bit in love with her. AU: University AU: Modern Day</p><p>Basically a huge mess of feelings and flailing and angst and me messing around with the characters. Contains all the pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Excellence of Misfortune

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really know where this is gonna go, hence the lack of tags and warnings (sorry!). I just had a lot of Marius/Éponine feels after reading the brick and this fic is the product of that. I really just wanted something that portrayed Éponine as a darker, more withdrawn character but also have Marius care for her and also have an Enjolras/Éponine thing happen??  
> (Basically everything I wished had happened in the book.)  
> Really, I just wanted to mess around with the characters and their relationships in a modern-ish setting while still attempting to maintain their identities from the novel.
> 
> So that's that. No beta, so just ignore typos and such. Hope you enjoy reading.
> 
> All characters (c) Mr. Hugo, as per usual. Title from the Bright Eyes song "The Road to Joy."

It was during Marius’ sophomore year in college that he moved out of his grandfather’s house and began renting a small flat on his university campus, he and his grandfather had stopped seeing everything eye-to-eye after Marius’ father’s death and Marius had decided it was time to live on his own. It was then that he met her, the girl who rented the rooms next to his.

It had been only a few days after he’d finished unpacking when he answered the brusque knock at his door expecting the landlady but found a young girl who looked as if she had seen better days, yet stood unwavering before him. “Hello there,” Said she in a voice that had once been sweet but was roughened by smoke and distress, “do you have any bread? I’m afraid I’ve run out…” She smiled a bit wanly at him before seeing the boxes and mess behind him. “Oh! You’ve only just moved in, monsieur… Forgive my abrupt appearance, I’m Éponine, I rent the room over there.” She gestured vaguely to her right with a small hand.

He remembered being surprisingly charmed by the rough and daring stature of this ghostly girl—she had dark circles under her eyes, the smell of cheap wine clung to her, and she had the air of someone who is lost in their own thoughts most of the time. Yet she charmed him and he found himself nodding dumbly, stammering out his own name, and finding a loaf of bread and clumsily handed it over while she smirked at him.

“How generous of you, monsieur!” She laughed and Marius smiled at her kindly. “But I don’t need the whole loaf for a sandwich for one. But it looks as if you don’t have plans so would you care to join me for dinner? I will gladly make you the shittiest grilled cheese sandwich in repayment for this bread and all the wine you can drink along with it.” She winked at him playfully. He agreed.

As he locked his door and followed her out into the hall and a few feet down to her own door she started speaking again, “Monsieur Marius, it fits you… The name, I mean. Like one of the bourgeois, but how is it you came here to this destitute place?” She kicked open her door and Marius couldn’t help but wince at the state of her apartment, she noticed and grinned wickedly. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

He looked around the room, startled by the awful state of, well, everything… Books and papers and emptied take-out containers littered every surface and the table was strewn with wine bottles and an overflowing ashtray. The couch, pushed against the far wall, was obviously the most occupied place in the room and it sat comfortably between a messy bookshelf and rickety desk, the only other pieces of furniture in the room. The house—as messy and poorly furnished as it was—was strangely homey and Marius felt a sense of comfort after the initial shock wore away. “No, it’s… Nice, cozy…” He said trying to find the right words. But there were no words to describe the room or the girl, for that matter, who was making her way to the tiny kitchen corner of the room.

She laughed and it sounded happy and alright, not as rough as her voice. “Help yourself,” she waved a hand in the direction of the table where a wine bottle was open and an bandoned cigarette still smoked feebly. Marius didn't smoke or drink often and declined the offered cigarette. "Suit yourself," Éponine shrugged, lighting one for herself. She inhaled deeply and exhaled, the smoke lingering in the small space, clinging to her hair and thin cardigan.

Marius sat gingerly at her table and watched her as she smoked her cigarette and gathered all her ingredients for the meal. She brushed him off when he offered to help saying, “no, no, monsieur, guests do the sitting. Now you never answered my question, why did you chose to live here of all places?” He began telling her about his grandfather and their fight after his father had died as he traced the scratches in the tabletop with a finger. She listened intently, her hand under her chin, and promptly burned the first sandwich.

There were no wineglasses but Éponine found them two ceramic coffee mugs (the tourist-y kind that had logos and not-so-funny puns glazed on the sides) for them to drink out of while they ate their semi-burnt dinner. “I don’t have company often enough to buy wineglasses.” She said simply after Marius asked her why she didn’t own any. “Usually it’s just me and I don’t need a cup, it’s the excellence of misfortune.” She sipped delicately from her mug and stole an abandoned crust of bread from Marius’ plate. “That’s the best part, the crust, even I’ll probably break my teeth on it one day,” she said munching thoughtfully.

They found that they agreed on little—Marius was an optimist while Éponine was self-proclaimed pessimist, he enjoyed law and politics while she favored dark philosophy and satirical writings, he loved romantic movies with happy endings and she told him honestly she didn’t believe in happy ever after’s or true love. Yet at the end of the night they found themselves laughing over some geeky website and Marius realized it was the first time he’d felt so good in a long time.

Over the next few weeks he found himself over at Éponine’s more and more often, complaining about his classes and she listened quietly and made small remarks every so often or asking her opinion about a paper he was writing. And she came over to his flat the nights when her parents came to her house and forced her to put them up for the night, their eyes wild and their breath plagued with alcohol. The first time this happened Marius asked her about details but she just brushed him off saying it was complicated and that she just needed a quiet place to study for the evening. However at 2 in the morning she was still there, her figure slumped in sleep on Marius’ sofa. He put a blanket on her and closed her notebooks before he went to bed himself.

The next time she came to his flat clutching her books and a pillow to her chest, she was close to tears, though Marius pretended he didn’t notice. But he was appalled and horrified when he noticed the bruises on Éponine’s arms and the rapidly darkening welt across one cheek. They didn’t say much the whole evening but before Marius left for bed he sat beside her on the sofa and took her hand in his, ignoring the tear that slipped down her face. She clutched his hand in return, holding onto it as if she were drowning. “Does it hurt?” He whispered as he ran a gentle hand over her cheek.

She didn’t look at him, her glassy eyes were locked onto the ground. “Don’t you fret monsieur Marius, I don’t feel any pain anymore, not the way you do.” But she continued to hold tightly to his hand, her tight grip the only thing betraying her hurting soul. They sat like that for a while, not talking, the silence wasn't an awkward one but one permeated by the sound of rain outside that was both sorrowful and comforting.

As the time went by the unlikely two became close friends as well as confidents; Éponine was a self-deprecating, lonely soul who loved to torture herself with the jovial and loving company of Marius, while Marius found himself oddly drawn to the darkly intelligent and mysterious character of Éponine. Regardless, they somehow stuck together long enough to meet a group of students who wanted to change history, which would change everything.


	2. The Upright Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Éponine sees Enjolras for the first time, Marius has feelings, and they meet a cynic named Grantaire.

It was late spring and the city was growing restless. The university in particular was buzzing with news of summer, finals, the latest community scandals, and rebellion. There were rumors going around about a new group of students on campus that spent their free time protesting all over the city and provoking the richer, older folk. “ _Vive la republique!_ ” They would shout in memoriam of the revolutionaries before them. “Let us live for a finer day when we shall all live in equality.” It was this day the young group—who called themselves simply Les Amis—were planning a new kind of meeting, one of recruitment.

On this warm and sleepy afternoon Marius and Éponine were lazing on the grass in front of the library halfheartedly reading their textbooks and sharing a cigarette.

Suddenly Éponine broke the silence, “do you really believe in life after death, monsieur Marius?” She said after taking a long drag from the cigarette and exhaling slowly. She called him monsieur in an amiable fashion, lightly and out of habit and humor rather than politeness now. She passed the cigarette over to Marius as he watched her movements carefully.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. He closed his thick textbook and lay back on the grass, glancing over at Éponine as she imitated him, her shoulder pressed softly against his. “I believe in a merciful God and in a heaven for those who are just in life.”

“Hmm,” her voice was muffled by her arm which was draped over her face in protection from the sun. “I don’t know if I can bring myself to believe in a God that would allow such awful things to people.” She kept her face hidden, her voice only wavering slightly.

Marius didn’t know how his God could let such awful things happen either, to anyone, but especially to this lionhearted girl who deserved so much better than what her life had given her. But he knew she wasn’t thinking of herself, at least not now. She was of course thinking of her younger brother, Gavroche, who was only around ten years old. While Éponine’s parents treated her badly, they completely ignored Gavroche and Marius wasn’t sure which was worse. He was sure that if not for Éponine, Gavroche would be much worse off than he was—which was pretty badly. He had run away again and Éponine usually heard from him after a few days but this time he’d been gone for two weeks and she had no idea where he was or even if he was alright. Éponine tried to seem like she didn’t care for anyone but Marius knew she loved her little brother more than anything, she wanted him to be better than she was and tried to appear a better person for him, what he thought of her meant the world to her.

He took her hand that lay across her stomach and held it tightly with his own. They had taken to holding hands, holding onto each other, a lot recently. In many ways they were more alike than one would first think, they both had virtually nothing and no one else in their lives so they clung to each other for loneliness’ sake if nothing else. But Marius didn’t like to think like that, he liked thinking of Éponine when she was happy and when she was intrigued (her sneaky thinking expression was by far his favorite).

He wasn’t really sure when things had changed but he now knew that he was ensnared and intrigued by this lonely girl, he lived to see her smile and to hear her laugh—which was happened less and less frequently than he would have liked. He had loved her since the beginning as a companion—her wry sense of humor and self-loathing seemed endearing to him—but it had been only recently that he started to notice other things, like the way her lips looked when she had them pressed against a wineglass, a cigarette. And he had begun to wonder what they might feel like pressed against his.

But he already knew Éponine enough to now she did not exactly have the same opinions about romantic relationships as he did. One night after watching a movie together they had turned to wine and the kind of conversation that can only happen after midnight and preferably in the dark. She had told him (after a few glasses of wine) that she would never fall in love and that while she thought he was really lovely she did not think of him romantically and would let him know if she ever did (after several more glasses). She also told him about her abusive family and destitute past and how she felt empty inside now and how she feared she would never be able to properly love anyone again. “Even my love for dear little Gavroche is skewed,” she sighed. “I do love him, but it’s selfish, I care so much about how he sees me… I’m terrible.”

When he tried to argue with her by saying, “No, Éponine, you’re an angel!” She laughed bitterly and replied, “No, I am the devil, but that is all the same to me.” Her deadened tone and empty voice made Marius wince a little and want to hold her tightly forever and ever and caress her and make her know she was important. But all he could do was take her hand and press it between his own as she rested her head on his shoulder and they listened to the sound of the static of the television that had long since gone black and the low rumble of thunder in the distance, a spring storm that Marius hoped would wash away all these awful things.

She had then kissed him gently on the fingers—an action so gentle and intimate that Marius felt his heart melt a little—before tucking herself comfortably against his chest and falling asleep. It was strange, Marius thought as he gently brushed aside the hair from her forehead, that this character who did not trust anybody has decided to trust him so completely and thoroughly.

It was two in the morning on a Wednesday, they were pressed together on Marius’ small couch, there were several empty bottles of wine in front of them, and the sound of the rain beginning to fall outside. If this wasn’t love Marius didn’t know what was.

Now he was stuck; this impasse was a graceful one and most likely for the best for Éponine did not love anyone and Marius wasn’t even entirely sure if he properly loved her. But he cared about her immensely and she for him, so here they remained, caught in between doing this for real and pretending that none of it existed.

Loud voices roused them from their thoughts and Marius glanced over at to the small group of students gathering around the school central monument.

“What’s going on?” Éponine asked, sitting up to try to gain a better view of the throng of students who were seemingly rallying the others.

“I don’t know,” Marius said, he stood and gathered his books. “Let’s see.”

But Éponine was already ahead of him, she had since stood up—abandoning her books and beaten backpack—and was making her way to the back of the crowd. Even though Éponine held herself like a lion she was quiet short and slight compared to many other students. By the time Marius had reached the growing group he heard students grumbling about the small, delicate looking girl who had pushed them aside in order to reach the front. When he reached the front of the crowd he looked up to realize he recognized many of the students up on the monument. There was Joly who was in Marius’ Biology class, Jehan who was a friend of Marius’ from freshman year, Combeferre one of the brighter more well-read students Marius knew, and the then there was Enjolras. Enjolras had been in a few of Marius’ classes over the semesters; he was a political science major and was infamous for his passion for certain things and lack thereof passion for others.

As he turned to look for Éponine he saw her gazing with a strange expression on her face at the group of rebellious students. He reached to touch her elbow and she turned to him.

“Marius,” Éponine said quietly to him, her eyes still distracted by the leader of Les Amis. She looked as if she had just spied an angel, her face alight with intrigue. “Who is the man who leads the revolutionaries? Do you know him?”

Marius felt his stomach twist as his friend turned to him once again, her eyes alight with a new kind of fire. Of course he knew who the raging revolutionary towering above the people, speaking with a passion unlike any other was; leader and motivator of the revolution, a man full of ideals and of courage and a man Marius knew he could never compete with in Éponine’s eye.

“He’s pretty isn’t he?” Another voice rose from the crowd beside Marius and Éponine and they both looked to their left, surprised. A student who looked a little older than they were was splitting his attention between Marius and Éponine, Enjolras, and the water bottle filled with a dark liquid that he held in his hand. The newcomer was wearing a worn hoodie and a t-shirt covered in paint stains, his hair was dark and curled against around his neck in the back, he wore sunglasses so they couldn’t see his eyes but his smile was large and slightly comical. “I’m Grantaire,” he offered a drunken hand to each of them in turn, “I should be up there advocating for ‘the cause’ with them but I’m the lost cause.”

“Éponine and this is my friend Marius,” Éponine said before quickly turning back to the boys passing out flyers from their perch. “Who is he?”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said turning to the leader of Les Amis also, he brought his water bottle—full of something illegal Marius was sure—to his mouth and drank deeply. “He’s our fearless leader, he’s kind of amazing.” He added as an afterthought noting Éponine’s enraptured expression. “Don’t get your hopes up though, dear. He’ll break your heart. He doesn’t love people, not like that.” Grantaire’s expression grew gloomy as he spoke, but he perked up when Courfeyrac came over and slung an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders.

“Grantiare! You sly bastard, you didn’t stick around last night when Enjolras made us fold about a thousand flyers until one in the morning.” He made a face before seeing Éponine and Marius awkwardly standing there. “Marius! Long time no see, _mon ami_! Now who’s this lovely lady you have yourself?”

Marius felt himself growing a little red but managed to collect himself before Éponine, who looked like she was going to rudely correct Courfeyrac, could open her mouth. “Yeah, it’s been a while, eh? No, no, this is just my friend, Éponine. Éponine, this is Courfeyrac, the worst TA ever.” Marius grinned as Courfeyrac laughed at some memory.

“Awww, you flatter me, Marius.” Courfeyrac said as he stole Grantaire’s bottle and took a sip, ignoring Grantaire’s protest. “But hey, Marius, Éponine, you should come to this mixer-thing we’re having tonight at the Musain. Enjolras has this big motivational speech planned or something but there will be lots of drinks and lots of pizza. It starts at eight.” A shout from afar made him look away before saying, “well the fearless leader needs us, see you tonight, yeah?” His arm still around Grantaire, with a smile Courfeyrac lead the slightly distracted and rather intoxicated student away.

“How do you know all these people?” Éponine asked Marius after the group had receded.

“Political science majors all know each other, there’s only like ten of us.” Marius said as he followed Éponine to retrieve her dropped books and bag.

“Do you want to go to that thing?” Éponine began shuffling her papers in order as she walked with Marius to his afternoon class.

“Those guys are all a bunch of weirdos,” Marius warned her and she laughed.

“That must mean they’re devoted to each other and their cause, then.” She noted.

“But they’re all very nice. I lived with Courfeyrac, you know. Before I moved into the flat. Did you see him and that Grantaire fellow? They looked pretty happy… I’ve been meaning to catch up with Courf anyway.”

“I can pick you up at 7:30.” She said happily before turning to leave for her own class, leaving Marius behind with the taste of unsaid words on his tongue.


	3. The Friends of the ABC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Les Amis de l'ABC are introduced, Enjolras has a strange conversation, and proceeds to plan a Grantaire intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a break from Eponine and Marius.... Gratuitous e/R because I'm incapable of not writing about them.

Only a few blocks off of the university’s campus there was a bar called the Musain, or as the locals called it, the ABC café. It was situated at the end of a long road the building forming the backend of the cul-de-sac of St. Denis Street; it was a fairly popular place amongst the college students, offering coffee and food downstairs while the upstairs was a bar with ample tables and room for events.

The bar was run by an older widowed lady who pretended to be grumpy all the time but really cared for her customers. But everyone knew who really ran the place, it was the group of young revolutionaries who called themselves the Les Amis de l’ABC, after their café.

Enjolras was the leader, Combeferre the guide, and Courfeyrac the center. These three were the heart and soul of Les Amis; Enjolras was the idealist (the dreamer, if you will), Combeferre was a shade toned down, the realist and the mind of the operation, and Courfeyrac was the glue that held them all together. Everyone knew that if Courfeyrac hadn’t come along that Enjolras and Combeferre would have passionately and tastefully destroyed each other over some minor disagreement. Courfeyrac also kept everyone in good spirits, he was the joker, the one who made them laugh, the one who kept them close.

Through the three main Amis there also were Jehan, Joly, Feuilly, and Bosseut. And somewhere along the way they had found Grantaire. Grantaire wasn’t like the rest of the Amis, he didn’t believe in anything spectacular or majestic, he didn’t strive for a better place in the world or even strive for a better world. Grantaire seemed to be content with his misfortune, content with drinking all night and sleeping all morning and working on his paintings during the afternoons. He was an art major—something Enjolras loved to scoff at—and didn’t seem to have a care in the world, that is until Enjolras started yelling at him for being a drunk and a waste of space. “You have so much potential, Grantaire!” He would yell at the intoxicated man, Enjolras’ eyes blazing. “Why do you come here to waste all our time as well as your own?”

Enjolras always apologized the next day and Grantaire wordlessly acknowledged it, nodding while Enjolras talked quietly to him as the others watched. They all knew Grantaire would never leave and he would never accept Enjolras’ apologies; he had it bad for their marble leader. As much as Enjolras scorned and yelled at Grantaire, Grantaire would always return offering his unaccepted loyalty and drunkenly slurring, “Oh, what a fine statue!”

However, Grantaire and Enjolras’ fighting had lessened recently, and the Amis said it was because Grantaire had procured the help of Courfeyrac—who was always happy to help a friend in need—for his more primal needs. As in, now that Grantaire and Courfeyrac were doing it Grantaire was less grumpy and Courf seemed to be enjoying himself, everyone was getting along reasonably well. Everyone except Enjolras, that is. Lately Enjolras had stopped poking at the drunk Grantaire, instead choosing to ignore his drunken ramblings, his stern face cast away from Grantaire. The other day when Courfeyrac had come to one of the Amis’ meetings and promptly sat himself on Grantaire’s lap—at which a non-displeased Grantaire surprisingly complied, casting an unconscious glace towards Enjolras who caught his eye—Enjolras had broken off his speech to frown at the two who proceeded to talk quietly, ignoring Enjolras’ stern gaze. A strange expression crossed Enjolras’ face, so briefly that only Jehan noticed, before he resumed his speech about the inequality across the middle and lower class.

Courfeyrac suddenly stood up, dragging Grantaire by the hand behind him. “We’re out. See you before the protest later on the monument, yeah?” Courfeyrac had a wicked glint in his eye betraying his and Grantaire’s afternoon intentions. Grantaire was unusually quiet and noticeably sober, his eyes locked on the floor, hand still in Courfeyrac’s.

Joly and Jehan snickered with each other as Bosseut sighed and tossed a few coins over the table in Joly’s direction. Feuilly looked up from the elaborate napkin flower he was folding and whistled at Courfeyrac as he put the flower on Jehan’s head.

“You can’t just leave.” Enjolras protested, embarrassed by how catty his voice sounded at first. He cleared his throat, “There’s work to be done here and you two agreed to help all afternoon.”

“Ahh, let the two lovebirds have a break, Enjolras.” Combeferre looked up from his thick textbook briefly. “Anyway, Courf was with me all morning working.”

Enjolras looked sour and deflated, “Fine. But you better be back to fold all these damn flyers before the presentation.”

“Of course, my captain,” Courfeyrac said jovially and jokingly saluted Enjolras as he lead Grantaire—who still hadn’t said a word—away.

“What was that all about?” Jehan asked when he caught Enjolras a little while later away from the rest of the Amis. Enjolras knew nothing escaped Jehan—especially when it came to personal affairs—and that now he would bother Enjolras until he had the truth.

“Nothing,” Enjolras tried to shrug Jehan off unsuccessfully. “It’s just that I like people focused on their work before, uh, other things…” He finished lamely, avoiding Jehan’s taunting gaze.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Jehan said finally, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Grantaire’s finally gotten to you, hasn’t he?” He laughed to himself, “oh this is too good, Orestes has finally begun to accept his Plyades only to find him off with someone else.”

Jehan noted Enjolras’ slight grimace with some satisfaction—he was right, though he was always right when it came to matters of the heart. Jehan raised an eyebrow delicately to Enjolras, “do tell what’s on your mind, fearless one.”

Enjolras sighed heavily before turning to Jehan, “It’s nothing, I just wish Grantaire would have more faith in himself. He annoys me to no end but I still care about him.”

“You think he can do better than Courf?” Jehan raised his eyebrows questioningly, the real question remained unspoken between them.

“I just feel like he’s kind of settling….” Enjolras finished lamely, trying to articulate his thoughts and failing—a feeling he didn’t like at all. “I think he deserves more for himself.”

“He thinks he can’t have what he wants, that he doesn’t deserve it.” Jehan said quietly, Enjolras felt his gaze boring holes in head as Enjolras looked down at the floor.

“Maybe I should talk to him, let him know he has all our support give him the ‘straighten up’ talk again.” Enjolras scowled at the thought of how the last talk had gone, it had been more of a yell and it had mainly been Enjolras yelling at Grantaire while the other party sat quietly absorbing the abuse without saying a word. Combeferre had frowned at Enjolras after, displeased with how Enjolras had handled the situation and the other Amis had awkwardly avoided Enjolras the rest of the night.

It hadn’t helped, his little “talk” with Grantaire had only inspired a darker and more vicious kind of drinking binge from Grantaire, who had proceeded to get drunker than he had in a long time, forcing Joly to take him home after he passed out at the Musain. Joly and Bossuet had frowned at Enjolras as they half dragged, half carried Grantaire away.

Jehan was now looking at Enjolras was a mix of dry incredulity and despair. “I don’t think that would be wise, Enjolras.” He said, biting his lip worriedly.

But Enjolras wasn’t listening, he was already planning his Grantaire intervention, he’d find him tonight and give him one of his good lectures. Why? Because Grantaire was one of his friends and he would help any of his friends who lost their way. But Grantaire seemed happy, another part of Enjolras protested weakly, Grantaire and Courfeyrac had something that worked why would Enjolras want to intrude on that?

Enjolras pushed his annoying thoughts aside with a decisive, Grantaire’s lost his way, I’ll set him straight again. This isn’t right for Grantaire, I’ll help him figure things out a bit… Enjolras left Jehan, who was frowning, to rejoin the rest of the Amis, purposefully ignoring the one recurring thought in his head as he walked away, _if this wasn’t right for Grantaire, then what—and who—was?_


End file.
